


Pieces

by awfuldaycupcake



Series: Unrelated Christmas One Shots! [5]
Category: Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Christmas Fluff, M/M, a couple of mentions of Thomas's ex but super nondescript, setting up the tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-07
Packaged: 2019-02-11 05:55:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12928929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/awfuldaycupcake/pseuds/awfuldaycupcake
Summary: Thomas is still a little heartbroken, so he decides to buy a Christmas tree, naturally. The only problem is, no one wants to agree on how to decorate it.ORRoman and Logan fight over trivial things, hurt other people, and throw fits like toddlers. It's a mess.





	Pieces

Thomas was trudging through the mud, saw in hand, a slight frost fallen across the ground. It was Christmastime. Yay. For some reason, he really wasn’t feeling the spirit this year. It was-- well. It was his first Christmas since _him,_ and it was affecting Thomas more than he’d like to admit.

His eyes scanned over evergreen after evergreen, the crisp smell of pine and cinnamon in the air. He was wearing a dark red hat with earflaps, his brown jacket pulled tight to his chest. Thomas was never much of a Christmas tree person. His parents always had him over to their home for the holidays, and he never felt like it was a good idea to get another tree for his apartment if he was barely even there. This year, though, was different. He needed something to _spruce_ things up a little bit (“Thomas, that pun was lackluster at best. You’re off your game,” a small logic-esque voice tutted in his head. Thomas ignored him.) He would be spending Christmas alone this year. It didn’t have to be perfect, but he didn’t want a Charlie Brown tree, either. He wanted something to fill the space.

 _Tree_ -tail therapy it was, then. (“Now you’re looking up, kiddo,” an even smaller voice said. Thomas smiled at that one.) A tall pine tree that almost looked blue stood before him, thin, but tall. Just what he wanted. Thomas knelt on the ground, disregarding the voice in his head loudly warning him of the possible dangers of cutting down his own tree, and also the voice calling that called the first voice the Grinch. He was at a Christmas tree farm. He was safe. People did this all the time. The first voice calmed.

After sawing down and and purchasing the tree, Thomas struggled to tie it to the top of the car. It was fine. Everything was fine. The fact that he had a unique relationship with the multiple sides of his personality was nothing, really. The fact that his boyfriend of three years left him with barely any warning was nothing. It was nothing. Everything was fine.

When he got home, he untied the tree from the top of his car, lugging it behind him. He smiled at his neighbor, and declined help when she asked. He was _fine._

Thomas propped it into the tree stand in his living room, taking a step back to look at it with the tiny ghost of a smile on his face. Things might be in pieces, but he could surely put them back together.

“Thomas! What a marvelous tree! You’ve truly outdone yourself this year.” Thomas turned around to see Roman standing in his corner, a grin on his face.

“Thanks, Ro,” Thomas said. Roman paused. That didn’t look right. Thomas’s smiles were usually brighter. There was usually a sparkle in his eye, but it seemed almost dim.

“You’re thinking about him again,” Roman said. It wasn’t a question.

“It’s Christmas. Can you blame me?” Thomas said. Roman nodded.

"Do you want me to call up Patton?”

“I’m okay. Thank you though,” Thomas said. He turned from the common room, setting out to find the ornaments he kept in storage just in case of an event like this. Roman stayed back, admiring the tree, before following him out.

The storage room was dusty, as it always was. Thomas hated going in here. It reminded him of Patton’s room to an extent, the memories and nostalgia too much to bear. He sifted through the boxes, pulling out one clearly labeled _Christmas_. Only one box of ornaments. That was kind of sad.

Roman looked around the room. While some might see these as stories to tell, life lived, he saw the clutter as past failures. Projects that had never gone anywhere. Things that he’d let himself give up on. Roman watched Thomas pick up the box, following him silently back into the common room.

“I- wait a second. There seems to be a tree in my place,” Logan said, looking angrily at the tall, thin tree. He’d appeared the second Thomas arrived back in the common room, completely oblivious to Thomas’s long face. “You must have placed this here by accident. Have you considered instead Roman’s traditional slot?”

“Very funny,” Roman said, leaning against the TV in his corner. “It’s because you’re the least favorite.”

“ _Falsehood,_ ” Logan bit. It was so easy to push his buttons, Roman didn’t even need to try.

“I didn’t say you were _my_ least favorite, logic. You’re actually kind of helpful. The other guy, on the other hand--”

“I have a name, you know,” Virgil said, sinking in. Thomas looked up at him. Well. If there were all here, he might as well resume his typical spot. He quietly made a move to sit on the futon in the center. “And I kind of thought we were done talking about me behind my back,” Virgil continued. “It’s rude.”

“I wasn’t _talking_ about you, Fool’s-Holiday,” Roman said. Patton sunk in. Roman… stopped talking.

“How are-- How are you feeling, Patton?” Logan said.

Patton looked like a contradiction. On one hand, he was wearing a Santa hat and an ugly Christmas sweater that was complete with reindeer, stripes, and sewn-on bells. On the other hand, his face was red and blotchy, almost like he’d been crying again. His glasses were off.

“Where’s the specs, dad?” Virgil said. Patton paused, looking around.

“Oh,” he muttered. He couldn’t see. He sunk down slowly. The other sides looked between themselves.

“How are _you_ feeling, Thomas?” Logan said. Thomas threw on a fake smile.

“I bought a Christmas tree!” he said. “What do you guys think?” Virgil looked over to the tree, a small smile on his face.

“I really like it. Trees are beautiful, especially when people don’t cover them in gaudy lights and too many ornaments,” Virgil said.

“No. The optimal way to decorate a tree is with nothing but simple white lights, designed to attract, yet remaining minimalistic. It keeps the Christmas tradition intact and keeps the house free from clutter. A star on top would be ideal,” Logan said. Roman took a step back, offense flooding his features.

“Are you two _serious_? Christmas trees are decorated in tradition! They’re covered in colorful lights, coated in candy canes, ordained in ornaments. Christmas trees are meant to be an artform of self-expression, a haven of festive creativity! Giant star on the top, popcorn strands, sparkling tinsel, multicolor lights, family ornaments. Bright and standoffish--”

“And just like you,” Logan said. Roman shrugged. Fair.

"I just want all of us to decorate it together,” Patton said. Roman turned around, looking at him curiously. He hadn’t noticed him sink in. His face was still a little sunken, but his glasses were now perched on his freckled nose.

Thomas took a deep breath. “That sounds like a good plan, Patton. Compromise, you two.” He looked between Logan and Roman pointedly. Logan resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “White lights with family ornaments and a star. And maybe Patton and Virgil can work on popcorn and cranberry strands.”

Patton looked up. “Stove-pop or microwave?”

“Whatever you feel like, Pat,” Thomas said. A small smile spread across Patton’s face.

About an hour had passed and pieces were clicking together. Patton was sitting under the tree with a bowl of popcorn (stove pop, of course,) threading a needle and string through to make the perfect popcorn strand. Virgil was sitting on the other end of the string at his cozy place on the staircase, the cranberries in his lap. He didn’t care that one side would be all cranberries, the other all popcorn. It added character.

Roman and Logan still had a bit of trouble cooperating. Logan was wrapping strands of white lights around the tree. He was being very careful to place things only where they were absolutely necessary. He wanted the tree-- and by extension, Thomas-- to be elegant, graceful, and to appear rather poised. Roman, naturally, wanted the opposite.

Roman was throwing ornaments on at odd angles. Red baubles next to green next to blue, complete with tiny childhood ornaments that Thomas had made as a kid. School picture foam ones shaped like gloves, little wooden painted ones shaped like snowmen. They were all so colorful and adorable and some were even _glittery_ (and honestly, how could Roman resist?) He was buzzing like a bee, hastily and excitedly throwing ornaments everywhere. The tree was growing a little lopsided from where he put too many on one side, but he’d figured it’d be fine.

Time passed. Thomas stood at the base of the tree, admiring their work. Patton was sitting underneath it, munching on the leftover popcorn. Virgil was (not-quite, but almost) smiling from the sidelines. When all the lights and ornaments were hung, there was one last thing to be done. _The star_.

“I am the star of the show, it only makes sense I should be the one to put it on top,” Roman said. He picked it out of the box, dusting it off slightly. It really was pretty.

“I believe I am slightly taller than you, so logically I should be the one placing the star at the top of the tree,” Logan said.

“We’re all the same height, Logan. We’re all Thomas,” Roman said.

“Indeed we are all Thomas, but I am Thomas but slightly taller,” Logan said back.

“That’s very funny, Logan, but since I am the star--” Roman started, moving to put it on top.

“I protest! This is a democracy. We did not partake in a standardized ballot about this!” Logan called, trying to wrestle the star from Roman. “Checks and balances!”

“I’ll check your balance, alright,” Roman said through gritted teeth. He fought for the star back from Logan, pressing into his arm with his shoulder. Logan fell forward, smack into the tree… and it began to fall the opposite direction.

_Oh._

_Uh-oh._

Thomas was standing, wide-eyed, watching as the tree fell towards him. His heart rate was through the roof. It's not like it would kill him, but in the moment he was terrified it would. He wanted to move, but he felt frozen in place, like he was paralyzed. The tree creaked, leaning over, falling, when--

If there was one thing Virgil was good at, it was anticipating.

Virgil lunged from his spot on the staircase, all but throwing Thomas out of the way. They fell to the couch, barely in time. The tree groaned and creaked, falling to the ground with an echoing _boom._

The two of them lay panting, looking over to the tree. Roman was standing, mouth wide open, star still in his hands. Logan had recovered, and was standing straight up, glaring daggers into Roman’s back.

“Are you all… okay?” Roman said, looking over to Thomas and Virgil. There was no one he cared about more, yet. He almost hurt them very, very badly. How could he?

“This is all your fault, you uncooperative--” Logan started. Virgil stood up, fear flooding his features.

“Guys?” He said. “Where’s Patton?”

Everyone paused for a second, looking around the room. Thomas’s face paled.

“He was under the tree,” Roman said. His mouth was still open, this time out of realization.

_Patton._

“Help!” A small voice called from underneath the tree. “Please!”

The four of them were suddenly all over the tree, pulling off ornaments and branches from on top of Patton. It was Thomas that finally pulled up the tree itself, revealing a bewildered Patton underneath.

Logan reacted in a split second. He pulled Patton up, pulling him up to his chest. Patton collapsed into the hug. It was weirdly unlike Logan, but he was scared, as much as he hated to admit it.

Patton pulled away, a surprised (but slightly amused?) look on his face. “Guys, I’m okay. It’s just a Christmas tree.”

“We cannot lose you,” Logan said, standing up straighter. He adjusted his glasses. “Because, clearly, you are Thomas’s emotion and this is strictly about him.”

“Sure it is, big guy,” Patton said, giving him a smile. Logan did not smile back. Instead his gaze shifted to Roman, his eyes narrowing.

“You,” was all he said.

“Me? Well, Logan, I suppose you mean _us_ , seeing as--”

“You tried to fight my logic. Because why? You’re the star?” Logan said. His tone was accusing, and he was taking step after step closer to Roman.

“Well, I mean. You really aren’t taller than all of us,” Roman tried to reason.

“I am approximately two inches taller than you, Roman, if you’d care to learn. Patton’s grown freckles, Virgil has gray eyes, you yourself have sprouted wider shoulders. We are still Thomas, but we’re separating. We’re becoming our own. I am taller than you, and I should have put that star on the tree. If it weren’t for _your_ illogical stubbornness, Patton wouldn’t be hurt,” Logan said. Roman was taken aback. Surely he wasn’t-- He looked up at Logan. Sure enough, he was taller. His head turned to Virgil, who was watching the argument with shifting grey eyes. Patton’s glasses sat atop a freckled nose. Logan was right. “It’s your fault. It always is. You have the gall, the audacity, to wreck everything you touch,” Logan practically seethed. He was fuming. Roman laughed nervously.

“But I’m the prince! Surely I can’t do anything wrong--”

“You’re no _prince_ ,” Logan said. Oh. Roman’s eyes widened. “You’re just some empty-headed, confused, arrogant _jerk_ prancing around pretending to be royalty. Wake up, Princey. You’re not a prince at all.”

Roman turned on his heel. The world was flashing before his eyes. Colors were blending together. His feet moved without his knowing, dashing up the staircase and into his room.

Thomas watched on, a stone in his gut. So this was how he felt about himself, huh? He steadied the tree, picking up the lost ornaments on the floor. Pick up the pieces.

The next day Roman wasn’t dressed like himself. That might seem like a weird comment to make, but Thomas had grown very used to the way his sides defined themselves, especially Roman. Roman announced when he added tiny gold embellishments onto his shoulders, nevertheless a wardrobe change as extreme as this.

Roman trudged down the stars straight to the kitchen. He grabbed a blue two-tone mug with weird sine and parabolic functions on it, disregarding the fact that it was clearly Logan’s. He just didn’t seem to care at all. He slowly poured himself some coffee, sitting down at the table across from Thomas with a _huff_.

“Are you okay there, buddy?” Thomas asked, looking up from his phone. Roman was wearing a gold-tinted bomber jacket with red and black accents, complete with red shoes and black skinny jeans Thomas could have sworn were Virgil’s.

“Yes,” Roman said. That was all. Thomas took another bite of his cereal, his eyes barely moving from his creativity.

“Do you want to go out today, maybe go hiking or on some sort of adventure?” Thomas suggested. If there was ever one way to cheer Roman up, it was--

“Not today,” Roman said. Oh. Huh. Thomas hadn’t been expecting that.

Logan walked into the kitchen just then. He spotted Roman, opening his mouth to say something. Before he could, Roman took his coffee mug and sunk out immediately. Logan shut his mouth.

Roman began doing this for a few days after. He was quiet, subdued. It wasn’t even like he was uncomfortable or pouting, just. Sad. Not attention-grabbing sad, either. Just kind of empty.

As the days went on Logan got more and more frustrated. Thomas was operating largely without his creativity, and why was that? Because the guy’s ego was too big to own up to his problems. Who did he think he was, Achilles? Roman could not simply retreat to his room to mope all the time while he and the other sides were efficient in getting work done. Logan was sick of this.

He finally decided enough was enough. But, unfortunately, there was one person’s help he’d need to get there.

“Thomas, I believe that Roman requires our company,” he said, plopping down across from Thomas at breakfast. Thomas, once again, was caught with a mouth full of cereal. He widened his eyes, as if asking Logan for more information. “He’s been acting besides himself, and I plan to right his wrongs for him. Someone needs to put him in his place.”

Thomas swallowed the food he’d been chewing. “Logan, I don’t think what Roman needs right now is someone yelling at him. He seems kind of off-kilter, sure, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t need help.”

“Nonsense. What he needs is discipline. He is a _child,_ Thomas,” Logan said. “He throws temper tantrums when he cannot get his way and sulks when he loses his battles. It’s unfair to the rest of us and it’s unfair to you.”

“Then why don’t you make that journey yourself?” Thomas said. He took another bite of cereal. Logan rung his hands together.

“Right. Do you remember that time you took us to Anxiety’s room earlier this year? It’s the same concept. I require you in order to visit him in his room. He needs to be set right. This isn’t the Roman we know, and I am sick of his immaturity.” Thomas shrugged. He might as well. If it helped Roman…

Thomas took one last bite of his cereal, sinking down into his mind. Logan followed, adjusting his necktie. Roman was about to get a talking to.

The common room looked exactly as Thomas was used to seeing it, but, as was the case with all of his sides, very different. Roman’s room had loud neon signs on the walls, all reading “You Shine!” “You’re Doing Great!” and other motivational sayings. Red and gold was a major theme, and everything had a slight pink tint to it. It was like viewing the world through rose-colored glasses. One thing, though, seemed to be uncharacteristically missing.

“Where’s all the mirrors?” Logan said, looking around the room. There was not a single mirror in sight, and Roman? Roman seemed like the _exact_ sort to obsess over mirrors. He was the ego, for crying out loud.

“Go away,” a small voice said. Logan looked both ways, trying to find the source.

“Roman, please come out from hiding. We wish to talk to you as soon as possible,” Logan said.

Thomas felt _weird._ He felt like he shouldn't be there. Even in Virgil’s room he didn’t feel like this. It felt like invading, like tip-toeing into a place he shouldn’t be. He almost could sense that his presence wasn’t wanted here.

“Thomas, please, go away,” the voice said this time, a little tremor at the end. Well. That made it pretty clear.

“Logan, you’ve got this covered, right? I think I’m gonna duck out,” Thomas said.

“Wait, Thomas--” Logan started, but Thomas had already sunk into the ground. Logan grimaced. “Well. Okay. Be that way.” Logan rounded the corner, still keeping an eye out for Roman. It wasn’t until he lifted the large comforter (knit with different playbills on it, that was cute) on the couch that he found Roman. He was… he was crying.

“I asked you to go away,” Roman said. He pulled the comforter back over his head, blocking Logan from his sight.

Logan was confused. He was crying? Logan always figured that Roman just brainstormed stupid names to call the other sides and threw darts at pictures of their heads all day. Instead, he seemed rather _hurt_. “Roman? Are you alright?”

“‘m fine,” Roman moaned, covering himself further in the blanket. “Go away!”

“I am not leaving,” Logan said. He had to admit it perturbed him to see Roman like this. Roman was meant to be the fanciful one, the one of them who was able to through all problems to the wayside and commit to complete optimism. He wasn’t the one to hide from his issues under a large blanket and cry. Why was he crying?

“I’m crying,” Roman said, “because you were right. I’m not some prince.” Oh. It had appeared that Logan said that last sentence out loud. “I’m just a costume-clad moron who thinks he’s important but he’s not. He’s not at all.”

“Roman,” Logan said. Something like pity pulled his strings, but he _knew_ it couldn’t be that. “You are important. You are Thomas’s ego.”

“I’m Thomas’s _self-esteem_. I can’t love myself all of the time. God, I try so hard to,” Roman said. He pulled his face from the comforter. He looked like a mess. His hair was disheveled, his eyes had massive bags, and worst of all, he was still missing his prince outfit. Roman had not stopped crying. “I try so hard. I decorate my walls in stupid sayings telling me to fit in with the status quo, I work for hours on my hair and makeup without even daring to face myself one time. I can’t _look_ at me, Logan. I’m amazing! I’m talented! I’m a prince! I’m… I’m an _actor_. I’m a liar. I’m a piece of a whole. I’m nothing more than a carbon copy, both of Thomas and of everyone else in the world. I’m a cheap stereotype, Logan, and I’m so entirely tired of it!” His crying had become louder, his eyes angrier.

“Worst of all?” Roman continued. “Worst of all I don’t help. I don’t help Thomas. He has so many problems and all I do is add to them. I can’t help him. I so desperately want to, but I can’t. And to think that _I_ almost killed Patton, the one thing that has the ability to bring him joy anymore?” Roman rolled his eyes, a fake laugh falling from his mouth. “That’s the funniest part of it all.”

Logan was growing worried. He was never aware that Roman felt… like _this_. He knew how to deal with Virgil’s panic, knew how to work through Patton’s sad phases. But this nervous sadness, this anxious perfectionism. Logan didn’t even know where to start.

He sat down on the couch next to Roman. Roman looked at him, his eyes puzzled and lost. Logan couldn’t resist the urge to grab him by the chin. “Roman Sanders, you are imperfect,” he said. “Say it. You are imperfect.”

“I… am imperfect.”

“There. See? It hurts, but it _is_ okay. Because I’m imperfect, too.”

“But you’re _Logan_ , you--”

“I am imperfect. I oftentimes let my anger get ahead of me, I fall oblivious to not only other people’s vernacular but other people’s feelings, their fears. I have a tendency to see myself as the only right one in the room. I am imperfect.” Roman made a move to object, but Logan interrupted him.

“Patton, you called upon Patton. Patton is imperfect. Yes, he makes Thomas happy, but he also makes him sad. He has childish impulses and continually breaks Thomas’s sleep schedule, leading him to be moody and complacent. Virgil is imperfect. He takes care of Thomas and keeps him out of trouble, true, but he does keep his fear levels often too tense to focus. He leads to nerves and blanket defeatism. Virgil is imperfect. We are all Thomas, Roman. You just as much as the others. You are his creativity, but you are also his self-esteem, as I am learning today. You are imperfect, but you are not invalid. There is a difference.” Roman paused. His eyes were slightly glazed, and Logan wasn’t sure if it was the realization or reminiscent of the tears. Either way, he looked back up at Logan looking significantly more confident.

“But what about the tree? The star?”

“You made a mistake-- but, I must recall, I myself was also a part of this. You are not to blame, Roman. And even if you were, I could not forgive myself for making you feel like this. You aren’t a copy, Roman. You’re unique. You’re _you._ And, I must admit,” Logan said. “You are not just a prince. You're _my_ prince.”

Roman pulled him in for a hug, pressing into him against the couch. Their hug turned slower, Roman’s tears drying on Logan’s shirt. An unspoken thank you.

If they laid there all the way until dinner, none of the other sides mentioned it. True, they were pieces, but together, they felt whole.

**Author's Note:**

> Partially inspired by https://bitterlyjitteryannotveryglittery.tumblr.com/post/163571135120/okay-but-what-if-when-roman-gets-incredibly-upset!
> 
> Day 4 of the 12 Days of Shipmas Challenge!! Prompt: Christmas tree decorating!


End file.
